


Farther and Longer

by Lalaen



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Coping, Dom/sub Undertones, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Sweet The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), everyone is sad and everything is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: Gethrael has the speaking stone to talk to Dorian now, but sometimes it makes the distance feel even farther.
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Farther and Longer

“... are you awake, dearest?”

Gethrael was lying awake, as he often did; staring at the canvas side of the tent, illuminated by the faint glow of the low-burning fire. Dorian’s voice made his heart leap, and he immediately clutched the sending stone that hung around his neck. “I am,” he said softly, trying not to disturb Iron Bull, whose heavy arm was wrapped protectively around his waist. 

“Hm. Dorian,” Bull grunted, barely awake. It didn’t sound like a question, but Geth knew it was one. 

“It is,” the elf said, squirming his way out from between Bull’s arm and his side. It wouldn’t be so hard if he wasn’t laying on his left side, which left him with no hand to push himself up on. “I’m getting up to talk a little.” 

Iron Bull, clearly still half asleep, held up his other hand for Gethrael to grab onto. He did, only a little frustrated, and pulled himself upright. “Might wanna put something on,” the qunari muttered, without opening his eye. 

Walking around skyclad was not abnormal among the Dalish, so Geth hardly cared; but whichever of the Chargers were keeping watch probably would. He groped for a long tunic - breeches were still a little difficult to get on one-handed. Crawling out of a tent wasn’t the easiest either, but he’d gotten used to it. 

“Sorry,” Gethrael said, a touch breathless. “I’m outside now.”

“And you’re still not missing your silk sheets in the lap of luxury?” Dorian teased. His usual tone - pompous asshole, as Sera fondly described it - had something behind it. Geth heard it in just a few words. 

“Not at all,” the elf raised his hand to the two on watch, letting them know he was alright, and wandered to the edge of camp. They were somewhere in the Dales, maybe a little outside the Emerald Graves proper. This camp was only twenty yards or so from a sheer cliff that overlooked a stretch of the thick forest; a beautiful view, especially when the morning fog rolled in. “It’s a relief.”

“But you must miss _me_ terribly.”

Gethrael heard his ‘I miss you,’ loud and clear. “Every day,” he said, and though he was playing along he was also telling the truth. “It’s good to hear your voice again.” He found a spot on a mossy rock where he could sit, tucking his legs up underneath him and getting comfortable. He had actually fallen asleep talking to Dorian like this, and though he wasn’t eager to scare Bull like that again, it was possible. He ran his thumb along the edge of the sending stone. 

“Unfortunately; I’ve been talking myself hoarse. Here in the Magisterium, we just adore talking issues into the ground until they beg for mercy from the sheer boredom of it.”

“You must be very good at that,” Geth said, feeling himself start to smile and not bothering to hide it. He missed his and Dorian’s easy back-and-forth more than anything; even more than the man’s hand finding the nape of his neck to draw him close, or the smell of bergamot that always seemed to cling to him. It was something he used for his hair, some kind of wax or oil. 

“Talking myself hoarse? Oh, incredible.”

“Boring things into submission.”

“Do I bore you, amatus?” Dorian said with an exaggerated wounded tone. 

Gethrael chuckled. “Obviously. That must be why I have so much trouble sleeping when you’re not here.”

“Oh, come now! You’re not even trying to insult me any more. We’re in real danger of getting sappy.” He said it fondly, but the bowstring of Dorian’s tension drew tighter in his voice. 

It was harder now than ever to know just what to do with him when he was clearly upset. Before, Gethrael had realized quite quickly to just let him work himself up into one of his strange frantic states, and talk to him calmly once he was out of energy. Now, since they’d been speaking this way... Dorian wasn’t as much a hurricane of emotion as he just seemed deeply sad and weary. Were they together, Geth’s instinct would be to hold him and not talk at all. For obvious reasons, that was not an option. 

“Are you alright, Dorian?” Gethrael said, slightly hesitant. At least this seemed to never backfire, though he had the distinct feeling that it wouldn’t do much good either. 

The mage sighed. “I have a terribly persistent headache, my dear. Maev says I’ve been drinking too much, but what else can one do at these ridiculous parties? Participate in a rousing blood magic ritual?”

Maev was probably right, but Gethrael didn’t see fit to comment on Dorian’s drinking habits. Especially when he was clearly using it to distract from whatever was genuinely bothering him. “You didn’t answer my question,” Geth kept his tone light and playful, but he fully intended not to drop the subject, and he hoped Dorian realized that. 

“No, I didn’t.” There was resignation in Dorian’s voice, and then a long pause. He clearly hoped that Geth would say something else, and their stalemate hung tangibly in the air. “I admit I thought I’d feel better once we spoke,” he added finally. 

Gethrael held his tongue for a moment, not wanting to reveal how frustrated he was. Maker, listening to Dorian rant was so much easier. This man could talk circles around anyone. “That can be arranged,” he said in his flirtatious tone; though he didn’t have much confidence that he could actually needle Dorian into having a serious conversation with him. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Another long pause. “We should talk of more pleasant things, amatus.”

Rolling his eyes skyward, Geth prayed to Sylaise for strength. He felt a pang in his chest, immediately remembering she was nothing but a mage who enslaved his people. After devoutly following the old ways all his life, it was hard to swallow. It remained so even now. “Dorian,” he said quietly, “let me listen. Let me put your mind at ease.”

“I suppose if anyone could, it would be you,” Dorian sighed again. “I don’t want to burden you-“

“Dorian!” It was a little sharper than Geth meant it to be, but it did shut the man up. “I have the... the privilege, now, of the fate of the world not resting on my shoulders. Please, burden me.”

Yet another silence, though this time Gethrael knew it was more shock than hesitance. He found himself clutching the speaking stone in his hand, and he started to worry that Dorian wouldn’t say anything more at all. 

“I’ve been dreaming an awful lot, as of late,” he sounded uncharacteristically absent when he did speak. “I don’t believe it’s the Fade; or at the very least it isn’t always. So, it’s nothing, isn’t it? Colourful and disturbing figments of my imagination. That’s all there is to it.”

“I dream too,” Geth said, voice gentle. “My people say that a dream comes to show you the depths of your mind.”

“If that is the case,” Dorian said sourly, “I’d really rather it didn’t.” 

Gethrael imagined that if Bull were there, he’d make a comment about that being the result of Dorian’s refusal to deal with his emotions. Geth considered it, turning it over in his mind and trying to make it work for him. “... maybe you’ve been avoiding thinking about something.”

“Of _course_ I have!” Dorian snapped, “I can’t count the things I don’t want to consider. After all we’ve done - maker’s breath, why do you think I don’t want to burden you? You suffered far more than I.”

This again. Gethrael laid back on the rock, feeling the dampness of the moss under his thighs. The chill from the stone crept into him, but the night was warm enough that he wasn’t uncomfortable. “Who else could understand?” He said after a moment, hoping it was enough. “I’m not.... we all suffered. I’m no different.”

“And all so quick to pile the blame on your shoulders,” Dorian sounded close to hysterics, which, although he was in no way actually responding to what Geth had said, was at least far easier to handle. “How _convenient_ for everyone. So bureaucratic, of course; a scapegoat so every decision made can be harped on endlessly. More so now that the Inquisition is no longer around to defend itself - but where were they all when it mattered? What else is a leader but someone on whom we can place all our blame?”

Gethrael laid there quietly, not sure how to make it known he was listening without interrupting. He traced the constellation Satina with his gaze, and tried to remember how Dorian how pronounced the old Tevinter word for it. He needed to distract himself from the hurt of the man’s words, as those were things he didn’t like to think if he could help it. It was hard enough to go back to being just Gethrael Lavellan as it was. He’d never wanted to be the Inquisitor, never had a choice in the matter. For every person who was thankful for what he’d had to do, there were two more who judged and complained and assumed, and dwelling on that led down a deep, dark hole. 

After all, look at what happened to Ameridan...

He shook himself, physically. 

“-and obviously, who else could make all the elven slaves revolt? Clearly the Inquisitor being a Dalish elf means that he’s started a cult following the so-called god that ripped his fucking arm off!”

Geth squeezed his eyes shut. “Dorian,” he said weakly, “please.” As much as he knew there was no ill intent, he couldn’t bear any more of the man he loved externalizing every dark thought he tried not to have. 

Dorian must have heard the distress in his voice, because he paused for a long moment; and when he spoke again the aggression had ebbed considerably. “I’m... disgusted by the unfairness of it all, amatus. I need them to understand what you’ve given.”

“The people who matter understand,” Gethrael said, words he had to tell himself often. He missed Sera. Sometimes it seemed like she understood more than anyone in the world, yet she still treated him like just another person. 

“But it sickens me,” Dorian was getting more impassioned again, “hearing this corrupt, morally bankrupt vermin speak of you this way. Men and women not fit to... to so much as kiss the ground you walk on!”

“What is this about, Dorian?” Geth said, feeling exhausted. He knew with certainty that it wasn’t really about people speaking ill of him, though no doubt Dorian was also bothered by that. 

Another silence. Geth stared up at the stars, wishing more than anything that he could take Dorian’s hands in his, put himself in the man’s arms and make him calm down. 

“Do you ever think about when we first met,” Dorian said finally. He sounded exhausted too. Defeated. “The future we witnessed?”

“Yes,” Gethrael said simply. It seemed so long ago in the parade of dreadful things he could think about, but it came up all the same. How terrified Sera was when she saw him was at the forefront, and watching demons toss her corpse to the floor like a broken doll. Who could forget Leliana’s face - scarred from a year of brutal torture - as her life left her eyes. And Iron Bull. At the time, he hadn’t yet come to love the Qunari, but by now the reality of him glowing sickly red from the lyrium poisoning was enough to make his stomach swoop. 

He’d had more than one dream where he was immobilized by a pillar of red lyrium growing from his own body. Feeling it pulsing through him, waves of something like vertigo gripping him as he tried to fight it. 

“Alexius could never have made that amulet if not for me,” Dorian said stiffly. “I told you I helped him develop it.”

Oh. “You said when you were with him he was still nowhere close. Surely he could’ve finished it, with the rift in the sky and Corypheus’ help?” Gethrael said. It had genuinely never occurred to him that Dorian had anything to feel at fault for in that ordeal. He absently started massaging the right side of his neck, which always seemed to be tense and sore now that he had to use that arm for everything. It was much more effective when Bull rubbed it for him. 

“I... genuinely wish I could make myself believe that, amatus,” Dorian sounded resigned and deeply sad. “Several breakthroughs were mine and mine alone. He’s always been a genius researcher, of course, but... sometimes a little too limited in his thoughts when it came to theory. He said himself, many times, that I surpassed him. Of course I was too absorbed in my own visionary genius to consider the ramifications of what we were doing.”

“Dorian,” Gethrael implored him, “you know you saved my life? I wasn’t going to react in time, and even if I had? I didn’t know anything about that magic. You and I are both well aware my reflex is chain lightning,” he couldn’t help but smile, thinking of how often he accidentally shocked his two partners - mostly Iron Bull, seeing as Dorian could deflect or defuse him. “I don’t think that would’ve done it.”

“Be that as it may, by then it was the least I could do,” it was only too clear that Dorian was wrapped up in his own head now, with such obvious bait for flirtatious teasing going ignored. “I was responsible for that future. Armies of demons falling from the sky, mages used as living lyrium farms... all spearheaded by an ancient magister. The corruption of my own people the crux of all evil, of course.”

“... and you’re fighting that,” Geth said gently. “That’s why you’re in Tevinter.” _Unless you lied, and really are running away from me,_ his traitorous inner voice told him, but he refused to give it any credence. 

Unsurprisingly, Dorian didn’t seem to be listening to him at all. If he were Iron Bull, he’d do the stern voice and tell the mage that was enough, but Geth was no good at that. He didn’t have the heart for it, either, to be anything but sweet when one of the men he loved was upset. 

“... at the time, it could only mean so much, but,” Dorian’s voice tightened and he paused again; and Gethrael got the sense that he was physically forcing himself to talk. “ _since_ then, maker... it’s like I’d forgotten we saw Bull die for us, until it came back all at once. And _Sera_...”

“I know,” Gethrael said heavily. “I think of it, too. It’s... it was different, I’ve seen you all fall fighting-“

“You don’t have to worry about me, though, my dear,” Dorian interrupted, and although there was still a profound tiredness over his words, the attempt at his usual haughty banter was something. 

“I still do,” Geth felt childish for how he said it, insistent as it was, but it was said now. “It’s frightening, seeing you with mortal wounds.”

“I suppose I’d be a hypocrite to wag my finger at you,” Dorian said, “I can’t bear so much as a scratch on you.” At least he could joke about it, now. Gethrael rolled his eyes even though Dorian couldn’t see him. For a moment they were silent, but it was more comfortable at least. Geth tried to imagine the other man laying there beside him, though it was made a little more difficult by the fact that someone would surely be complaining about laying on a rock. “You know,” Dorian suddenly said, in the tone of someone entertaining a flight of fancy, “you enchanted me from the very first.”

Gethrael smiled, remembering very well the pleasant feeling he’d got in his stomach when he and Dorian immediately fell into an easy banter. No man had ever spoken to him like that, and the more he suspected it was flirtatious the more he’d been delighted. “You thought of having me right then?” He teased. 

“I’m thinking of having you right now,” Dorian’s tone warmed, and it was a relief to hear it. “But in all honesty - I thought you were lovely. When I saw how quickly you landed on your feet, I was impressed, and you were so responsive to my cutting wit. To say I was utterly charmed would not be inaccurate.” He said it all in a way that was very smooth, very essentially Dorian. One would never know he’d been hysterical mere minutes before. Still, this was a confession Geth had never heard from him. 

“No Dalish would speak like you did,” Gethrael squirmed around to pillow his hand under his head. “It was exciting.”

“I’ll admit... at first I thought it was a novelty to be so openly flirtatious with another man. And one so important as yourself? Maker’s mercy, it was like I could see my father feeling ill.” Despite a rather forced laugh, Geth could sense some of the tightness of an admission again. It was a little shocking how open Dorian was being tonight. “When things went sour, and I saw how quickly you put your absolute trust in me... amatus, you may have me at a loss for words yet again. I must confess, I never really knew that I could bring us back.”

“You seemed confident,” Geth said, though with the way Dorian was talking he was afraid to even breathe in case it broke the spell of his words. The mage had a way with speaking, and unbelievable charisma; no one could deny that. Yet Geth could count the times he’d heard Dorian’s speech so naked and genuine on one hand. 

“Of course I did,” Dorian said, and Geth could almost hear him waving a hand dismissively. “But you see - at that moment, you awakened something in me. I had to do better, and... I hope you can forgive the sentimentality, but I truly did think, ‘maker help me, I am his’.”

Gethrael couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face and didn’t try. Dorian was affectionate even with his friends, but things like that were different; by his standards that was a heartfelt declaration of love. “I suppose the maker did help you.” Warmth spread in his chest. _I love you, too,_ he thought, though he knew better than to say it out loud, especially when his partner was being so open with him. There was no faster way to make Dorian withdraw. 

“Ha! You know I don’t believe in all that.” Dorian sounded almost cheerful again. 

“You know I don’t either,” Geth teased. He let his eyes close in another comfortable silence. This was how he’d drifted off before, he had to be careful. “... did I tell you I cut my hair?”

“You what? Certainly not!”

“I didn’t know you were that fond of it,” Gethrael said, bemused. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling his body want sleep. He shook his head to make himself more alert. His hair had been down to his ass as long as Dorian had known him, and honestly for most of his life. He’d almost always had it up in public, and it was only practical to keep it twisted up close to his head if he might be fighting. 

“Well, I’m not sure how else to picture you. I really never imagined you’d cut it, you know.”

“I couldn’t take care of it anymore. Not with one hand,” Geth tried to sound in good humour about it. Truthfully, he’d gotten used to shorter hair - admitting to the simple things he was struggling with was much harder. 

“Ah, I suppose,” a tinge of sadness crept back into Dorian’s voice before he hitched back his regular jovial demeanour. “I have no doubts you’re just as beautiful as ever, my darling.”

“It’s only just above my shoulders,” Geth said, chuckling at his flattery. “I didn’t cut it like Krem’s, or anything.”

“Thank the maker for that,” Dorian teased. “I’m not sure I could imagine it.”

“Don’t worry. I think Bull would be the first to complain.”

“Quite right,” there was another pause, much shorter this time. “I’m loathe to leave you, but perhaps we should both turn in. I’m sure our dear Iron Bull is awake and waiting for you.”

“... that seems likely,” Geth pulled himself off of the rock with a distinct lack of grace, then tugged his tunic down to make sure he was appropriately covered. “You’ll think of me when you go to bed?” He said it in an undeniably suggestive tone. 

Dorian chuckled. “Ah; no question, amatus.”

A few minutes later, Gethrael tumbled awkwardly into the tent. Iron Bull’s one eye was open, not even bothering to feign sleep. He silently lifted his arm to invite Geth back to his side as the elf ducked out of his tunic. 

“What was eating him?” Bull grunted. 

“You could tell?” Geth knew he probably shouldn’t be surprised, but then again the Qunari had been half asleep and only heard a few words. 

“Ha. You can’t?” 

Gethrael decided to crawl up on his chest instead. The whole weight of his body wasn’t much to Iron Bull, who’d actually said he found it soothing when the elf slept on top of him. Sure enough, he grabbed Geth’s ass with one huge hand and slid him into a better position. Geth fought a smile and buried his face against Bull’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing and listening to the thud of his heartbeat. It was... good, very good to be here. Calloused fingers trailed gently, almost reverently along his spine before Bull’s hand came to rest on the dip of his waist. The contentment that Gethrael felt was almost enough to do away with the built up pressure behind his eyes and the soreness lurking in his chest. 

“... you’re right, I can,” he muttered, not looking up. His hair had slid over most of his face anyways, hiding him from view. 

“What did he say to you, kadan?” Bull’s voice was just as gentle as his touch. He didn’t sound annoyed with Dorian; that had a different feeling to it. This was more like resignation. Geth hated the implication that he wasn’t happy after speaking with Dorian, especially because it was so often true. Evidently, Bull sensed his distress, because he added, “don’t think he can talk to you that long without putting his foot in that big mouth of his - ‘specially not lately.”

“I love him,” Gethrael said, quietly but with conviction. That keen pain in his chest came back full force. 

“Hey. Doesn’t mean he can’t make you hurt - actually kinda makes it easier.” Bull’s thumb casually stroked his side. “We’re cursed with caring too much about that idiot,” he said, a little bit more playfully. “Good thing he’s pretty.”

Gethrael made himself smile, even though Bull couldn’t see his face. He wanted to take things lightly, to cheer up, and he would do his best to do so. “He thinks what Alexius did was his fault. I can’t imagine what brought it on.”

“Dunno. Maybe dealing with a colleague of his, or sorting out some of his old work. He was apprenticed to the guy for a while, yeah?”

“Why would he be at fault though?” 

“Mm. I can make a guess,” Bull said, moving his hand to touch Geth again. The vibration of his deep voice through his chest was lovely, and combined with his surprisingly delicate toying with the elf’s hair; it was quite relaxing. “What you two saw was pretty rough, yeah?”

“You died,” Gethrael said, pressing his mouth against Bull’s skin. It wasn’t that simple, of course, but they’d spoken of it all before and he didn’t feel like getting into it. 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull’s hand drifted down to stroke between his shoulder blades. “Dorian’s not great at dealing with stuff, putting it lightly,” he gave a humourless chuckle. “But he’s real good at having an ego. If something’s his fault, he can hurt over it.”

“I believe it.”

“... don’t think that’s what he said to you, though.”

Gethrael huffed wordlessly, cursing how perceptive Bull was. No wonder Dorian got so touchy with him, with how much he hated confronting his feelings. 

“Oh, he means well. He was just... going on, like he does, and he said an awful lot about... what people say about me. How unfair it is for them to blame me.”

“Ah,” Bull did sound a little darkly disapproving this time. “King of being angry on the behalf of others. Gets him into trouble.”’

It worried Geth that he had no idea what Iron Bull was talking about. “When is he getting into trouble?”

“He won’t let it lie when he hears people disrespect you,” the Qunari said. “Admirable, but he’s already not so popular in Minrathous. Gets quite a temper about it.”

Gethrael pushed himself up enough to look at Bull, shocked. “This is new to me.”

“He doesn’t like you knowing,” Bull grunted, “so maybe hold your tongue about it.”

The elf frowned at him, but let it go. It was obvious even to Geth that Dorian didn’t want to be told that was unnecessary. 

“Hey. He does it cause he cares. He could show it better, but... should probably take what you can get,” Bull’s tone was light and joking, and Geth obliged him with a small smile. They were both silent for a moment, but Gethrael was pretty sure the Qunari was waiting for him to speak about what had actually brought him down. 

“Do you,” he felt so stupid voicing it that he had to stop. He met Bull’s gaze, which was enough to remind him that he really could talk about anything, and face no judgement or consequence for it. “Do you think any of it mattered?”

“Any of what, kadan?” Iron Bull said gently, though the look in his eye said that he had a pretty good idea of what he meant. 

“Any of any of it,” Geth said, before realizing that wasn’t his brightest moment. Wow, Dorian had really taken a lot out of him. “... the Inquisition. The things we did.” 

“Yeah. It mattered,” Bull said, in a voice that told him there should be no question about it. “You helped a lot of people. Don’t doubt that.”

“Dorian said that a leader is someone that everyone can blame-“

“Probably shouldn’t listen to anything Dorian says when he’s... like that,” Bull said with a heavy sigh. “I know I sure don’t. He talks out his ass even more than usual.”

“He needs someone to listen,” Gethrael rested his cheek back against Bull’s chest, breathing in time with him. 

“Maybe. But try not to take that crap to heart,” the Qunari’s large fingers were toying with his hair again, and Geth let his eyes fall closed. “Kadan, you need to know how much good you did.”

“Many died either way, Bull. Not just those I couldn’t save, I mean... in the beginning, I chose to help the mages. I’m sure just as many Templars died. We killed them ourselves, later.” Geth said tiredly, not bothering to open his eyes again. “So... did it matter, really? And it’s probably not fair that I went with the mages, I’m a mage.”

“What’s not fair is how many choices were put on you,” Bull’s hand came to rest protectively on the back of his neck. “And I’m guilty of that too. Look - it mattered to the people spared because of you. More than anything.”

“And the others?”

“You can never please everyone, and you can’t save em all either. The good guys are the ones that feel sick about that, and being good is the best any of us can do.”

Gethrael had no idea what to say. He believed Bull, of course, but a dark feeling had settled in the centre of his chest. He didn’t know who he was anymore. Being in the grip of despair was so unlike him, even he knew it. 

“Kadan,” Bull said, with a tenderness that made Geth feel warm inside in spite of the sadness. “You’re safe here.” The Qunari had always been incredible at taking him away from everything, and he did not even need the power games to do it. That worked the best, and Geth absolutely loved it, but at the moment he wasn’t up for anything like that. Maker, he truly didn’t recognize himself any more. Usually even the thought of such things was enough to waken some excitement in him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, focusing on Bull’s heart thudding against his ear; on making their breathing sync. They stayed that way, silent, for so long that he thought the Qunari might be asleep. 

“You’re not the Inquisitor,” Iron Bull said, and although he spoke softly, it was in that stern and unarguable tone used to tell him to get down on his knees. “You still feel like you are. The Inquisitor is an idea - you are real.” Bull’s free hand took his ever so gently, hooking a thumb under his palm. “You’re Geth. One of my Chargers... hot, too,” he said, melting back into fondness. “Ha. _Really_ hot.”

Gethrael felt himself start to smile. It was very hard not to listen to Bull, and he felt some of those words starting to sink in. It was true. The man who’d been the Inquisitor - or played at it, really - wasn’t in this tent now. 

Bull slowly brought his hand upwards, placing it over the dragon’s tooth pendant he always wore. Geth knew it well by its shape, the lines of it against his fingers. “And you make me very happy, kadan.” Again, the warmth of his voice made Gethrael feel... good, actually. 

At least better. 

“I love you, you know,” he said sheepishly. He didn’t say it often, and there was a little twist of guilt in his gut from that. Iron Bull did so much for him. 

“I know.” That same warmth. It was very clear in his voice that he did know; in fact, that Geth saying it at all was unnecessary to him. “Can you get some sleep for me?”

It turned out that Gethrael could.


End file.
